


In Memory We Forget

by TheFitfulFire



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, and of course everyone else, maybe there will be more, maybe there won't be, we shall see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFitfulFire/pseuds/TheFitfulFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena is lost in the shadow of what can never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memory We Forget

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, this is just a strippet of what I feel could be a much larger concept and fic. Depending on what I hear back on it, I may or may not continue on. So let me know what you think!

I’m running again.

High on the pads of my feet—a true sprint. I suck the air deep into my lungs before fear presses it out again in time with the rigid pistons driving me on. There is nothing behind me, no fearsome monster or faceless villain, and yet on I go as every burning step screams to stop. Rounding a corner in the dark I slip, but the pain is nothing. Nothing like the voice that joins my shuddering breath.

“Hello mummy. I’ve missed you.”

~~

She runs a finger idly around the lip of her teacup. The steam has long gone from it, the leaves drudging its bottom now over-bitter.

“Helena?”

The soft voice doesn’t jolt her, nor had the creaking boards of the old house when she had risen forty-five minutes prior. When the tea was still hot.

Leena approaches her gradually, her measured steps unafraid. The young woman crouches easily before her, but makes no attempt to touch her. She is too wise, this girl—woman, Helena corrects herself. Leena doesn’t try to talk. She sits on her heels, taking in dark, bagged eyes and cold drink. When the woman before her allows it, she gazes deep into those eyes, willing all the courage and comfort in her possession to pass into the damaged soul.

The inventor stares back, striving to accept these gifts and denying them all at once.

Time passes in this way until an ache forces Leena to rise. She makes her way to the kitchen to start the morning’s coffee, but pauses at Helena’s unmoved shoulder. Her hand is a gentle squeezing pressure, and then it is gone, with only shuffling footsteps in its wake.

 

HG sighs, looks balefully down into the amber liquid before draining the cup. She perks slightly at the sound of movement from Myka’s room, the corner of her mouth a hitch higher. Standing, she stretches, rolls her shoulders straight and winces at the crackle of her knees. _No time for sorrow now, old girl_.

She pads barefoot into the kitchen and helps Leena get breakfast underway.


End file.
